


the song has ended but as the songwriter wrote, the melody lingers on

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cold War Era, F/M, Historical Hetalia, Historical References, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Inspired by Music, References to Depression, Reunions, Separations, the writer is a little rusty so pls be gentle w criticism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 02:47:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9579047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Erzsébet has had her freedom taken away... but they'll never take her memories.





	

**Author's Note:**

> link to the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hVvkPlAXhE8

It must be Sunday. She knows because she isn’t shaken awake for work at the crack of dawn by Torys like usual. Instead, the sky through her tiny west-facing porthole is gray and dreary with rain clouds, and Erzsébet is woken up by the intense ache of longing in her chest, and tears sticky on her cheeks and pillow.

She turns over onto her back and stares up at the ceiling, eyes stinging at the corners. As a nation, she’s been alive for a millennium, and yet the decade and a half since the Curtain was drawn have been the loneliest years of her entire existence. Punishment for ‘56 meant she was sent away, banished to St. Petersburg, far away from her compatriots in the Bloc house, farther still from her home. 

When she still lived in Budapest, she had a room similar to this one. It was small, sparsely decorated with only bare essentials, and had a small window on the west side. The memory of that window makes her sit up in bed and look over at it. From Budapest, she was closer to where she wanted to be; she could almost imagine being there, walking through the halls of her mind, soft piano music flowing through her head as she drifted farther away from the gray room and into the arms of her other half again, tilting her cheek to rest on his shoulder and feeling his dainty hand settle in the small of her back, the other idly walking slender fingers across the black and white keys. 

Almost. 

In the present, Erzsi reclines back in bed and turns onto her side, closing her eyes again. Tears are burning beneath her eyelids, and the ache in her chest is so much that she clenches her fist into the blanket around her waist and lets a sob choke out. 

Without Roderick, there’s a gaping hole in her life; they were torn away from each other again, a dreary curtain separating them for what seemed like the rest of their lives. The pain she felt now rivaled the agony she’s felt in ‘18, when they were separated by document; Roderick’s eyes were unbearable to look into when she slowly twisted her scratched, slightly dull wedding ring off and let it fall into the palm of Francois as he patiently awaited for her to surrender it.

If this is what happened when they fought wars together, then Erzsi would never ride into battle again.

/

“Hey, woman.” 

Erzsébet glances up from her work. Her eyebrows instinctively draw inward upon seeing who’s hovering in the doorway of her tiny office, and her grip on her pen tightens. “What do you want?” she asks irritably. 

Gilbert shifts from foot to foot by the door, eyes cast to the ground. “You know,” he begins, “these walls... they’re very thin.”

“What’s your point?” she snaps. “Get to it.”

He looks up from the ground; his eyes are narrow and clear, meaning he wasn’t too exhausted for his usual sharp wit, but the bags beneath them were still stark against the pale of his skin. “You shouldn’t be so loud when you cry.”

She freezes, pen creaking as her fist tightens around it even more. It will snap in a moment, and cleaning up the ink and requesting new documents will be such a pain, so she eases her grip and drops the pen with a clatter. “Maybe you should’t listen so keenly, then,” she says, but her voice is too shaky to carry any real barb. 

“Hard not to listen when you’re sobbing like a little girl,” he remarks. 

It’s true. 

Pillows could only muffle so much.

“I will try to be more considerate next time,” she says, trying to force herself to sound as icy as the rain hitting the streets outside. 

The sharp lines of Gilbert’s face soften a little, and he drops his eyes again, never one who was good at keeping eye contact. “Want to know something?” he asks, crossing his arms again. He sounds so awkward, Erzsi wants to lighten the mood somehow. But she can’t bring herself to do anything other than ask, ‘What?’

“He misses you too.”

It sends an electric shock through her system, and Erzsi gapes at him. He’s still looking to the side, a troubled shadow cast over his eyes, and she swallows heavily as tears well up again. She digs her nails into her palms to distract herself from the stab of pain that pierced her upon hearing that. 

“H... h-he does?” she chokes. 

“More than anything.” Gilbert sighs, a long, deep sound. “He was there, last time I went-- at my brother’s house. Told me to tell you. It was honestly.. pathetic to see the little master in such a state.”

Erzsi gasps. “How is he?”

“He stopped using the cane a few years ago, when those guys left him be alone. Still limps a bit though, and can’t walk as far without getting tired like an elderly man,” Gilbert says. “Hair’s finally grown back to its usual foppish flowiness. Finally getting back to his naggy rich kid state, but... he’s clearly lonely now that he’s neutral. Still so different from his old pal Switz, if you can believe that.”

A tangent memory fills her vision; for a moment, all she can see is Roderick, leaning on a gold-topped cane back in the late 40′s, hair slightly shorter than his ears and still a little uneven, but his signature Mariazell already curling up from the part of his hair; wearing an old uniform, obviously taken from a dusty box and taken in a few times; tape holding the bridge of his plastic glasses together, gnawed fingernails drumming on the table, bruised half-moons and crow’s feet adorning his clouded eyes. 

Then, he fades away, and she wants to cry out as indigo flickers toward her for one last time. 

“H-hey, don’t do that.”

Gilbert’s voice brings her back to reality again -- he’s been doing that a bit, lately -- and Erzsi brings a hand up to her face, feeling tears roll down her cheeks. 

A sob hiccups from her, shoulders jumping with it, and she thinks it’s relief? It’s relief that’s overwhelming her as she buries her face in the crooks of her arms and cries. 

“Thank you, Prussia,” she chokes out, muffled by the sounds of her crying and her arms. “Thank you for telling me.”

That’s not his name anymore, but he responds to it anyway; his footsteps walk closer, and his presence by her side is comforting for the first time in centuries since they were children, as he awkwardly pats her shaking shoulder with one gloved hand. “Sure,” is all he says, and for that, she’s grateful.

/ 

_“Time to take a break!”_

_Erzsébet nudges the music room door open with her hip and carries the tea tray inside, heaving it with both hands. The curtains are drawn, shrouding the room with muted sunlight, and the figure at the harpsichord turns as she loudly declares her entrance._

_“Already?” Roderick asks, sounding surprised._

_“Yes! It’s already two hours past noon,” Erzsébet replies, setting the tray on the table in the center of the room. She’s pleased to see that her husband has kept it clear, no sheet music strewn about like usual._

_He sounds less delighted about the time than she is about the table. “Already?” he asks again, this time flat with dread. He’s scheduled to meet with the actuary again, to review their monthly budget plans for the thousandth time, and then a visit to talk with the Archduke is in the day’s plans, too._

_“Yes.” Erzsi gives him a pitying smile as she comes up to him. She winds her arms around his shoulders and rests her chin on the top of his head. “So, I suggest you try to unwind a little before you leave,” she says, twitching her nose as Mariazell tickles it. “Number days always stress you out, and the last thing you need is bursting an artery, Mr. Edelstein.”_

_Roderick hums, leaning back to press against her. “You always know what’s best,” he comments. “Mrs. Edelstein.”_

_Erzsi huffs a laugh into his hair. “I think I prefer Héderváry, I’m afraid.”_

_“That is of no issue,” he remarks smoothly, patting her hand resting against his chest. “Then I will simply be the one to change their name. ‘Mr. Héderváry’ has a decent ring to it, don’t you think?”_

_Erzsébet laughs again, tilting her head forward to press her forehead to the crown of his almost black-brown hair. “I agree, I agree!” Unwrapping her arms from around him, she giggles again -- he’s the only one who could ever make her do that, his variations from stiff, blushing awkwardness to deadpan sarcasm making her giggle like a crushing maiden._

_Her._

_A crushing maiden._

_On her own husband._

_How silly._

_Shaking her head, Erzsi sighs contently and goes over to the tray. She sits on the sofa and reaches for the teapot, arranging the china so she could pour his drink. “Mr. Héderváry,” she calls, seeing him turn back toward the piano. A strand of hair falls loose from the bun all of her hair is pulled into, and she blows it away from her face as it brushes her nose. “Don’t think I will not physically carry you away from there~”_

_“Oh, no, I’m coming.” Hastily, he closes the keyboard cover and carefully stands up from the bench, sidling around it. There’s a small smile on his face as he approaches, sitting beside her. Roderick takes a small sip of the tea she handed him. “It’s delightful,” he sighs contently. “How lucky am I, to have a wife who knows how to make a perfect cup of tea?”_

_“The luckiest in the entire history of lucky men,” she teases, leaning closer to him and pressing their arms together._

_Peaceful silence drifts between them for a few minutes, peppered with Roderick’s quiet swallows and the rustle of their clothes if they shifted slightly. Erzsi decides to take an initiative and tilts her head to the right, resting the side of her head on the slope of his shoulder, and loops her arm through his own. A smile crawls onto her face as he carefully transfers his tea cup to the other hand, and wraps his arm around her back. Warm contentment overtakes her, and Erzsébet thinks she wants to live in this moment forever, when he isn’t weighed down with the weight of an empire and they can just pretend to be normal people for a while._

/ 

Ivan’s eyes gleam as they pierce her own. 

“You are very fierce, Котёнок,” he chuckles. “Very bold of you to ask such things of me while you are still being punished.”

Erzsi clenches her jaw at the nickname, not knowing what it means but is sure that it’s condescending, but keeps her head bowed. “With respect --” she just manages to keep from gritting her teeth, “-- I would like to say that I believe I have learned my lesson.”

“Oh?” His mouth curls up. “Why is that?”

Erzsébet pauses. 

The last thing on the planet she wants to do is admit to Ivan that she’s weak. Isolation in St. Petersburg has been nigh unbearable; she longed to hear Feliks and Irina, or even Kristyna and Gilbert again. Budapest called for her, making her heart long for the familiarity of her heart city. Roderick missed her, she needed to see him, it’d been much too long since--

“I see!” Ivan starts laughing, leaning back in his chair. It squeaks as the body moves, its joints creaking under his weight. “I see,” he repeats, much to her confusion. He blinks several times, his smile growing. “It is in your eyes, in your body language. You are sad and lonely; you would like to see your friends again, and return to your home. Am I wrong?”

Erzsébet closes her eyes, unable to admit he’s spot on.

Ivan huffs out one last laugh. “Of course I am not,” he declares. “I know all. But... I will consider your request to visit your Austrian if -- if and only if -- you admit that I am right about you.”

Her hand clenches tightly in the folds of her skirt. “You.. are right,” she grits out. “About me, and what I request.”

“You do not sound very convinced, Котик.”

“You’re right! About everything!” It comes from her in the form of a frustrated cry. “I want to go home! I want to see my friends and family again, I want to see my husband again--”

“Ah, but he is not your husband.” That smile turns icy cold. “And your friends all live with me. And your home is still under my control, so it is not like you can escape me, Венгрия.”

“I am not trying to escape,” Erzsi argues, clutching a hand over her chest. Her heart thuds within her ribs like a drum, and it’s not impossible that he can hear the blood rushing in her ears. “I just want a short leave from work!”

“ _Everyone_ wants a short leave from work,” Ivan explains with the patience of one who is speaking to a child. “Ah, how nice it would be to sleep in one day, wake up whenever I please, invite my sisters over for dinner, to end it all with my pet curled on my lap and a fire in my home.” He laces his gloved fingers and lays his hands on his stomach. “Alas, I am stuck at work all day, constantly dealing with that American pain in my жо́пa, trying to protect and provide for you, my friends, none of who seem very grateful for my services.”

Protect and provide? Erzsébet wants to scream.

“You will not leave this house,” Ivan continues, eyes narrowing into lilac-colored slits of danger. His smile is a thin, cruel smirk on his face. “You will not visit your Austrian, your friends nor your capitol. You will continue to work here without complaint, nor any more requests like this, or else you will face consequences. You understand, да?”

The world goes blurry. 

Erzsi closes her eyes, and nods. “да,” she whispers.

“Good.” Ivan waves a hand at her, then turns in his chair, facing the back of it toward her. “Dismissed.”

/

_Roderick prefers to make the music himself; it is his passion, after all. But there are times when he is content to let someone else do the creating. The phonograph was doing a marvelous job as his replacement, in Erzsébet's opinion._

_“I can recall the times when you would trod on my feet,” her husband recalls as they sweep to the right. With a wince, he adds, “Well, the times you did it on purpose, in heels? I would prefer not to remember those times, but... alas.”_

_Erzsi giggles, her hair curled and loose and swinging around as they turn and revolve around the piano room. “Oh, how I abused your poor toes when we were younger,” she says. “How could you ever fall in love with a woman who was absolutely horrid to your dear feet?”_

_“I suppose life is full of mysteries,” Roderick sighs fondly, pulling her close as they turn from the loop of another turn. “How could I fall in love with a woman who is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met? Who is reckless and headstrong and stubborn, but makes up for it in leaps and bounds of passion and kindness? Who tolerates me? The world may never know.”_

_Erzsébet blushes -- he gives her small signs of his feelings more frequently than before now, but it’s always surprising when he is so verbose with them while sober -- and laughs as he sweeps her around and dips her toward the ground._

_The ends of her untamed hair, full of kinks and tangles after being wrapped up all day, brushes the floor as she’s brought down and kissed soundly. A sigh escapes her and whispers against her husband’s mouth as she presses closer, returning it with more depth and bringing her arms up and around his neck._

_The phonograph stops in a moment, the record elapsing into silence, but they remain together for longer. When Roderick pulls back and straightens back up, bringing her with him, she’s a little dazed. “I also remember some things about our old dances,” she murmurs, cracking a mischievous grin. “Like how you couldn’t do that, or else you’d drop me and embarrass us both in front of an entire hall of your peers because of your weak noodle arms?”_

_Roderick is the one who blushes, now. “I wish you would forget that part.”_

_Erzsébet laughs again, her head falling back with it. “I may not forget it, but it will be our secret,” she promises once she’s done. Her grin cocks up into a smirk. “That is, unless you anger me somehow. Then, it might be our secret... and France’s.”_

_“Oh, not France,” Roderick groans. “He will never let me forget it if you tell him such a thing! Do not threaten something like that!”_

_“Then you’d best not anger me, lelkem!”_

_“That will be difficult, considering how often we fight.”_

_“Oh, please. That is bickering, not true arguing. You know exactly when I’m angry.”_

/

Erzsébet sits on the edge of her bed, numb with fury after the confrontation in Ivan’s office. Asking for a weekend visit to Budapest had been overstepping her bounds as a subordinate; or rather, prisoner. She clenches her hands so tightly it hurts, nails too short to bite into her palms but the sheer tenseness of the muscles and joints painful. Her jaw aches from gritting her teeth too hard. 

“A kurva Isten bassza meg!” she shouts when her temper breaks, snapping like a string drawn too taut. “A holló vájja ki a szemed!! Ugh!!”

Knocking on her door makes her freeze, then she relaxes. Ivan does not knock; it cannot be him, unless he wants to trick her. Cautiously, she approaches the door and opens it. 

It’s Torys who is standing there when she opens it. 

“What are _you_ doing here?” she asks waspishly, not in the mood to be berated by one of Ivan’s closest lackeys. 

Torys holds up a package, wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with a string; her eyes widen as she spots a familiar seal stamped onto it. “You should probably keep it down a little,” he advises, level-headed in the face of her bad mood. “I’m not sure if he understands your language, but he’s smart enough to tell if you’re badmouthing him or not.”

“I don’t give a damn if he knows, he can go to hell.” She holds out her hands for the package, and Torys hands it over to her. 

“I.. won’t tell him you said that.” With that, he turns and goes down the hall without another word. She stares after him for a moment, then looks down at her package. Mail wasn’t a common occurrence, especially since ‘56, when she was moved to St. Petersburg without a word to anyone other than her superiors and no one knew her address as a result. Packages, especially, were an odd thing to receive. 

But the seal... 

She knew who the package was from. 

Erzsi backed into her room and closed the door. She glanced at the wall clock; thirty minutes until she was expected to return to work. Enough time, she decided, then untied the string wrapped around the box. She tore into the drab brown paper, throwing it to the ground in shreds, then worked on getting the tape off of the box. 

Once she got it open with the help of the fruit knife she had stashed in her tiny bedside table, Erzsébet finds herself faced with something that made her eyes well up. Her fingertips graze the glassy surface of the picture frame, her breath catching as she stared down at it. The picture within was one she hadn’t seen in ages; their wedding photo, Roderick looking only slightly less handsome in artificial gray than in real life. But the sight of his face made her heart swell regardless of it being printed on paper. Sniffling, she places the picture frame to the side, and looked in the box for more items. 

A bundle of letters tied with another string; Roderick’s loopy, slanted script is printed on every single one of them, the special capital E at the beginning meaning they were addressed to her, varying dates that grew later in year written on each. A decade of letters she never received, she realizes angrily, probably due to censorship issues. Vowing to read them later, she casts them aside with the picture. 

Another picture: one of Roderick himself, standing beside Ludwig and Feliciano. Ludwig had grown even more; he was half a head taller than her husband, and despite looking slightly thinner than when she saw him last, he looked healthy. He was standing stiffly in the center-left of the photo. Meanwhile, Feliciano was the most lively one in the picture, grabbing onto Ludwig’s arm and beaming at the camera, radiating energy even within a black-and-white photo.

Roderick looked fine, too, which was a relief; his hair was back to the state it was in before the last world war, sans the waviness he styled into it each morning. He’d gotten new glasses, too; these were smart wires, silver, judging by the glint of light on them in the picture. 

The final thing in the package is a box, filled with several rows of small apple-filled rétes. Delight swept through her upon the scent of them, but she wondered how long they were in this box. A quick peek at the date on the side revealed it’d only been four days, meaning they would probably be fine. 

Erzsébet moves onto her knees in front of the bedside table, pulling out the drawers. She carefully transfers the wedding picture and the more recent picture into the bottom drawer, at the back, behind the Bible. The letter bundle is inserted into the holy book itself, wedged in between the pages. The rétes go into the top drawer, slotted alongside the small notepad kept there. 

Erzsébet returns to the bed, staring down at her hands in her lap. Her eyes are blurry with tears, but they’re not of sadness and melancholy. She’s relieved, and happy to see her family again, even if they’re in two-dimensional picture form. 

/

It feels good, to be outside again. 

It isn’t raining in St. Petersburg, for Goddamn once, and the sunlight is weak but makes her feel strong anyway. Erzsébet strides toward the car that is waiting in front of the house, chin raised proudly as she goes. To be finally able to answer that longing call to return to Budapest feels liberating, like she’s a bird being freed from her cage. 

...maybe that’s a little too literal to be called ‘metaphor.’

/

_Erzsi knows Roderick hates leaving. He’s a homebody, preferring to be in the company of his instruments, his wife, and his servants than anyone else. Especially when the business trip is to Russia or France; he isn’t a fan of either nation, due to their creepiness and shameless flirtatiousness, respectively._

_So she waits in the front parlor, near the entrance, every time he’s soon to return from a trip. It sometimes takes hours, so she winds up sitting there for much longer than she anticipated, but it’s worth it each time to see his face light up when they meet eyes._

_Erzsi jumps up and runs toward him, quite unladylike for the mistress of the house; Roderick spreads his arms and lets her jump into them, squeezing her tightly enough and swinging her to the side slightly. When she draws back, she presses two kisses to each of his cheeks and one to his mouth, before withdrawing from the embrace completely._

_“Welcome home!” she says, loud with excitement. She hates it when he leaves, too, but she keeps her complaints to herself for the most part._

_“Indeed,” he replies, adjusting his glasses. “It’s glad to be back.”_

_“Indeed!” she echoes. “It’s much too quiet without you here to play music. No one else can do it quite like you can, and my hands are too clumsy to play with such talent.”_

_“Your hands are plenty talented.” Roderick pauses and blushes darkly, coughing upon realizing the entendre lying within his words. Erzsi smirks and brings said hands up to rest upon his shoulders._

_“I can guess about whether you.. missed them, as well?” she asks impishly, brushing a streak of dirt off of the lapel of his coat. He turns even darker and stutters out something, which is endlessly adorable. It’s too much, and she’s laughing, surging forward to silence his worries with another kiss. “I was only teasing, lelkem, relax.”_

_“Right.” Roderick coughs, his smile slanted nervously as he places his hands on her waist. “I did know that, yes.”_

_“Of course,” she soothes, reaching up to brush a strand of hair away from his temple._

_Erzsébet withdraws away from his hands and moves to his side instead, looping her arm through his. “Are you tired at all?” she inquires, giving his arm a gentle tug to guide him along with her. “Visits to France always exhaust you. Let’s get you into bed for a nap.”_

_“You always know what’s best,” Roderick says, shifting his arm and running his hand down her arm til their fingers were laced, walking hand in hand, side by side._

/

Gilbert is also in the car with her, riding next to her in the back seat. He’s not as subdued as he is when he was in Ivan’s house and under Soviet control; he’s teasing her mercilessly as they ride down from St. Petersburg to Vilnius, then transfer at the Polish border. It takes 22 hours, but when Erzsébet stirs from sleep with lines pressed into her face from leaning against the side of the door, she’s felt a feeling that she hasn’t felt in years. Their driver tells her that they’re within Magyarország borders, and the sheer relief she feels is almost like a punch in the stomach.

Erzsi bolts from the car when they come to a stop in front of a familiar looking building; her home looks exactly as she remembers it, with a few exceptions. The lawn and the rosebushes beneath the front windows were looking fabulously well-cared for, despite her being gone for over 40 years. It’s staggering how long it’s been since she’s stepped foot in this house, and it makes her pause on the front pathway and bring a awed hand up to her mouth, trying to muffle any audible emotion. 

It’s a surprise when the door opens. She’s briefly shocked as to who could be in her house without her there, but who steps onto the porch step and stands there with a warm smile on his face makes her knees nearly buckle. Gilbert is there helping her stand up again, heaving her back up to her feet as she collapses when he descends the few porch steps, then shoves her forward. 

The push gives her the energy she needs, and Erzsi is rushing forward, running even though her knees are still a little weak. She’s yelling something, and Roderick seems to understand her even though it’s just sounds tumbling from her mouth with no real meaning, because his smile cracks just a bit wider. He spreads his arms, and for a moment, it reminds her of that tangent memory, his visage flashing in a nostalgic sepia for a second before returning to glorious color.

Erzsébet throws herself at him, tears streaming down her face as his arms wrap around her, embracing her in warmth and the scent of pine forest cologne. She can’t even talk; she’s babbling like a child, burying her face in his shoulder and squeezing him tightly. His hands rest on her lower back, fingers clutching the back of her drab uniform dress, and his mouth is mumbling, low and comforting near her ear.

“Welcome home.”

**Author's Note:**

> historical notes: 
> 
> \- Iron Curtain: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iron_Curtain
> 
> \- 1956: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hungarian_Revolution_of_1956
> 
> \- "How is he?": Gilbert's answer implies that Austria was taken into a concentration camp during WWII and thus had his hair shaven off, as per regulation for the treatment of prisoners. In addition, because of the Allied occupation of the country from 1945-1955, Austria uses a cane to walk. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Allied-occupied_Austria)
> 
> \- human names: Feliks (Poland), Irina (Ukraine), Kristyna (Czechia), Gilbert (Prussia), Ivan (Russia), Torys (Lithuania), Francois (France). Roderick and Erszebet are obviously Austria and Hungary, respectively.
> 
> \- the memories: All 3 memories take place around the same year, 1892.
> 
> \- Russian translations: Котёнок = kitten, Котик = diminutive of kitten, i.e. kitty, Венгрия = Russian name for Hungary, жо́па = swear word for ass. 'da' should obviously be 'yes'
> 
> \- Hungarian translations: A kurva Isten bassza meg! = God damn it!, A holló vájja ki a szemed! = may a raven gouge your eyes out!. i love hungarian swearing, it's so Extra. lelkem = sweetheart
> 
> that's about it for historical notes, i believe. if i missed something and you'd like to know what it may be, you can comment about it below and i'll answer when i can! (or you can google, if you'd like to find out right away. you might not get a direct answer, though; google likes answering hungarian searches in hungarian, as you'd believe.)
> 
> i wrote this in the span of *checks watch* seven hours, from 12-6:30 yesterday, then spent an our today (posting day) to complete the final section and do some minor edits. i was listening to the great ella fitzgerald last night, after an odd mix of lofi hip hop, classic rock, and disney music (my youtube suggestions are.. a mess), and this idea suddenly hit me. well, after an attempt to place these same characters into a swan princess AU...BUT i digress!! :)
> 
> i haven't written for hetalia in quite some time, especially these characters. if they seem ooc, cut me some slack and call it 'due to circumstance.' even the marvelous hungary gets worn down and depressed when she's being trapped by russia....
> 
> and on one final note, i don't headcanon that aushun had a happy marriage, back when they formed the austro-hungarian empire. it seems very strenuous on their relationship; they're MUCH happier when they're not forced into it, like in the modern strips, particularly the christmas one when austria buys her a hat and she's so happy. but, to be honest, i played up their... epic romance... a little for the sake of the song. just a little, though :') 
> 
> i hope you enjoyed!!!


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